


above, below, by you, by you surrounded

by seventhstar



Series: time travel threesomes [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Dom/sub Undertones, Double Anal Penetration, M/M, Oral Sex, Romantic Fluff, Self-Acceptance, Self-cest, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M, Time Travel, sometimes self-care is fucking your past self while your fiance watches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 13:59:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11232462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventhstar/pseuds/seventhstar
Summary: twenty two year old yuuri katsuki finds himself in st. petersburg, two years in the future, in the apartment where his future self and his fiance, viktor nikiforov, live.of course they have a threesome.





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> title is from "To The Desert" by Benjamin Alire Saenz

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri’s not in the bedroom, but the bathroom light is on. Viktor drops his shirt, his pants and the rest of his clothes on the bedroom floor, and then rethinks and moves them into the hamper. Nothing ruins the mood like tripping over clothes left on floor and giving yourself a nosebleed (not that Viktor has ever done this.)
> 
> (Yuuri did it. And he still leaves his dirty clothes everywhere, even though Viktor bought them matching hampers as a sign of his love.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title is from "To The Desert" by Benjamin Alire Saenz
> 
> so apparently there's no yuuri/viktor/yuuri tag in ao3? get it together yoi fandom

“Yuuri?” Viktor calls as he charges into the apartment. His ears are tingling, a sure sign that the anomaly has started, but his anchor band is secure around his right wrist, and he remains firmly when he is.  
  
No one answers him. Yuuri texted him ten minutes ago asking him to stop and buy more lube, so where is he? It’s their day off. Yuuri is supposed to be with Viktor today, ideally naked and willing.  
  
Maybe it’s a surprise. Grinning to himself, Viktor tosses his coat and scarf onto the couch, pausing only to scratch Makkachin behind the ears. She’s asleep under the dining table. He unbuttons his cuffs and the first two buttons of his shirt as he goes; Yuuri has a terrible (sexy) habit of getting frustrated and ripping Viktor’s clothes off of him.  
  
Yuuri’s not in the bedroom, but the bathroom light is on. Viktor drops his shirt, his pants and the rest of his clothes on the bedroom floor, and then rethinks and moves them into the hamper. Nothing ruins the mood like tripping over clothes left on floor and giving yourself a nosebleed (not that Viktor has ever done this.)  
  
(Yuuri did it. And he still leaves his dirty clothes everywhere, even though Viktor bought them matching hampers as a sign of his love.)  
  
He lets himself into the bathroom and is enveloped in a cloud of steam. Viktor frowns and flicks on the exhaust, and then he actually sees Yuuri, naked, wet, and combing Viktor’s shampoo through his hair with his fingers, and promptly forgets the lecture on proper shower etiquette he’d been about to give.  
  
The only thing he wants to give Yuuri now is pleasure.  
  
Yuuri doesn’t look over at Viktor; he’s washing his hair, eyes closed, shoulders slumped under the spray. Viktor stands outside the shower door, absently stroking himself, watching the water run over Yuuri’s skin, and waits.  
  
Yuuri finishes rinsing and turns off the water. Viktor notices for the first time that he’s not wearing an anchor band. Did he not hear the sirens going off? He could have been hurt if he was dragged out of time while naked. There’s a couple spare bands in the cabinet over Viktor’s sink, and he snags one to put on Yuuri.  
  
He smiles as Yuuri fumbles around the shower for his glasses, and finally finds them on the shower floor (the view when he bends down is spectacular). Once they’re on, he turns in Viktor’s direction for the first time.  
  
And screams bloody murder.  
  
Yuuri shrieks something in Japanese at him and tries to cover himself, and Viktor freezes for several confusing seconds before he realizes he should probably act. There are towels hanging on the rack, and Viktor grabs one for Yuuri and wraps the other around his waist. (Why does Yuuri have to run screaming away from his naked body all the time? Everyone _else_ reacts positively.)  
  
He holds out the towel, and after a wide-eyed standoff Yuuri opens the shower door far enough to stick his hand out and snatches the towel. He wraps it around himself tightly, sits down on the tile, and puts his head on top of his knees.  
  
“Yuuri, are you all right?”  
  
No response. Viktor stares at the top of Yuuri’s head, which is trembling slightly, like maybe he’s crying.  
  
Slowly, he slides the shower door open and kneels down on the wet floor next to Yuuri. The tiles are heated, because winter in Russia is cold; Viktor didn’t install that feature so his fiance could be comfortable while he panicked on the bathroom floor, but he’s glad of it anyway. He puts his arm gingerly over Yuuri’s shoulders.  
  
“Sweetheart?”  
  
Yuuri leans against him. Viktor sighs with relief and rests his chin on top of Yuuri’s head. He smells like Viktor’s shampoo, which is nice, if a little odd, because Yuuri always complains that it makes his hair oily. He’s still shaking a little, but he’s not making any noise: no hyperventilation, no sobbing. This is a new breed of anxious Yuuri that Viktor has never seen, but he’s determined not to fail him, so he summons up all his patience.  
  
They sit there on the hot tiles in silence.  
  
Viktor is worrying about catching cold when he hears the front door open. Makkachin barks loudly.  
  
“Who’s a good girl? Yes, you are,” Yuuri — _Yuuri?_ — coos. “Vitya? Are you here?”  
  
_Ah,_ Viktor thinks. _That would explain why he wasn’t wearing an anchor band._  
  
The weather report said the anomaly would last between forty-eight and seventy-two hours. They’re going to have to get off of the floor eventually, and Viktor doesn’t really want to be caught by Yuuri — _his_ Yuuri — cuddling another man, even if that man is a past version of himself.  
  
Yuuri (Viktor is going to have to give one them a nickname) lifts his head slightly, no doubt because he’s confused by the sound of his own voice.  
  
“You should really keep an anchor band in your bathroom,” Viktor says lightly.  
  
Yuuri actually raises his head, pulling out from under Viktor’s chin, and looks him in the eye. Underneath the absolute terror, there’s a faint annoyance.  
  
“I didn’t hear the siren go off.”  
  
Yuuri rearranges himself so that he’s leaning against the wall. Viktor sidles up to him, the glass slick against his back. They watch each other; Yuuri’s expression is disbelieving, and Viktor can only hope his reveals how very in love he is.  
  
“Well, you’re here now,” Viktor says. He takes Yuuri’s hand, ignoring the way Yuuri gasps when his fingers brush his palm, and puts the spare anchor band on him. “How old are you, Yuuri?”  
  
“T-twenty-two.” Yuuri eyes him. “You’re Viktor Nikiforov.”  
  
“I am.” Not for long, Viktor thinks as his ring catches the light. “And you’re Yuuri Katsuki.”  
  
“If this is real...how do you know who I am?”  
  
“We’ve met.”  
  
“We have?” Yuuri looks around the bathroom. “Is this your bathroom?”  
  
“Sort of.” Viktor traces his name on Yuuri’s shoulder. “Really, it’s our bathroom?”  
  
“We’re roommates?”  
  
Yuuri’s whole face has lit up, like being Viktor’s future roommate is a dream come true. His brow unfurrows as he absorbs what Viktor has said. Of course Yuuri thinks it’s astonishing that they know each other. He doesn’t know that Viktor adores him, that he sprinted home from a meeting with sponsors to see him, that he would happily sit on bathroom floors with him for the rest of his life.  
  
“Sort of,” Viktor says coyly. Yuuri’s eyes widen — _cute,_ Viktor thinks — and he reacts without thinking, as he so often does. He closes the distance between their mouths in a second, and Yuuri is suddenly wet and still in his arms, and of course, at that exact moment, his Yuuri rushes into the bathroom.  
  
“Vitya, are you okay? You didn’t — what the fuck!”  
  
“Gah!” Yuuri — Yuurik, Viktor decides, just so he doesn’t confuse himself — throws himself backwards and narrowly avoids slamming his head into the wall. “You’re me! Why are you here?”  
  
“I live here!”  
  
“I know, but why?”  
  
“Because Viktor’s mine!”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Oh, Yuuri!” Viktor’s heart does a flip in his chest. Is Yuuri getting jealous of himself? That’s sweet, and also pointless, as Viktor is perfectly capable of loving both of them, of loving every version of Yuuri there ever was or will be.  
  
“We’re engaged,” Yuuri says, holding up his hand so that his ring is visible. “See?”  
  
Yuurik makes a noise like a tire screeching, but he also doesn’t pull away when Viktor reaches out and laces their fingers together.  
  
“Now that we’ve settled that,” Viktor says, in lieu of watching to see if they’ll fight over him. “Shall we?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please comment, comrades


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lights are out in the living room, and it’s quiet. Viktor’s feet make no sound against the plush carpet as he tiptoes closer. He hopes that it’s not quiet because they’ve just been sitting together awkwardly in silence while Viktor was gone.
> 
> He hears someone sigh very softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, there is smut in this chapter, as promised.

They look almost exactly the same.

After being giving dry clothes (”Why?” Viktor asked. Yuuri just shook his head), fed a cup of the instant ramen Yuuri hoards under his side of the bed (disgusting), and crushed by Makkachin, who was delighted to have another Yuuri to demand petting from, Yuurik is much more settled. He and Yuuri sit side by side on the sofa, bodies touching, and Viktor is forced to sit on the floor because he can’t decide which of them to sit beside.

There are subtle differences, and Viktor is satisfied to find he can identify them easily. Yuurik’s hair is shorter, and his nails are more ragged. (Maybe Viktor should give him a manicure.) Yuuri holds himself differently; he has confidence that the younger version of himself hasn’t yet developed. Both of them look at each other speculatively, sizing the other up. Viktor doesn’t need to be told that Yuuri finds Yuurik wanting, as he no doubt projects all his faults onto him a hundredfold; Yuurik must be wondering what kind of Yuuri he is in the future, if ‘married to Viktor Nikiforov’ has become reality rather than fantasy.

Neither of them say much. Yuurik’s eyes flick around the apartment, lingering on the photographs on the walls. Yuuri’s jaw is clenched in a way that suggests he’s holding his tongue. Viktor chatters nonsense about his sponsorship, then about Georgi’s short program, then about Makkachin’s new friend, a Great Dane owned by the newlywed ladies on the second floor.

He wants them to talk. He wants Yuurik to ask questions. He wants Yuuri to brag about his life. He wants the conversation to move to the elephant gadding about the room, the one trumpeting _ENGAGED ENGAGED ENGAGED._

It…does not.

If Viktor’s past self showed up in his apartment, they would already be curled up in bed together, doing each other’s hair and nails and trying to come up with a foolproof argument to present to Yuuri re: threesome.

“I’m going to shower,” Viktor announces. He narrows his eyes; Yuurik won’t notice, but Yuuri will. “I’m sure you have a lot to talk about, right?”

“I’m fine,” Yuurik says hurriedly.

“Vitya, can I —” Yuuri doesn’t finish his excuse, just gets up and follows Viktor out of the living room. Outside their bedroom, he whispers, “Don’t leave me alone in there!”

“Yuuri, Yuurik is _you.”_

“I know! It’s —” Yuuri runs a hand through his hair. “It’s awful. I hate it. Seeing myself like that. _You_ seeing me like that.”

“Like what, Yuuri?”

_“Pathetic.”_

“Yuuri,” Viktor says slowly, in the tone he adopts when he knows he’s going to offend Yuuri and he’s decided to do it anyway. “If a past version of me was here — a thoughtless, selfish, depressed version — would you look down on him?”

“No, never!”

“Then why are you so hard on yourself?”

“I…”

“Be as nice to him as you would be to me, okay?” He kisses Yuuri’s lips before Yuuri can respond. Yuuri doesn’t let him pull away quickly; he hooks his arm around Viktor’s neck and deepens the kiss before he breaks away.

Then he squares his shoulders, regular Yuuri becoming Grand Prix Final silver medalist Ace of Japan Yuuri, and walks back into the living room. Viktor watches him go, pleased by both Yuuri’s receptiveness to Viktor’s coaching and by the way Yuuri’s jeans fit, and then goes to shower.

He lingers in the bathroom for over an hour, making optimistic preparations for the night ahead. He scrubs and moisturizes and conditions. He does his eyebrows, because the little things _matter_ in a long term relationship. He forgoes wearing actual pajamas and instead puts on his very best underwear (barely decent, red, lacy) and a bathrobe.

The lights are out in the living room, and it’s quiet. Viktor’s feet make no sound against the plush carpet as he tiptoes closer. He hopes that it’s not quiet because they’ve just been sitting together awkwardly in silence while Viktor was gone.

He hears someone sigh very softly.

“Ah…”

“He touches me just like this.”

Viktor hears the whisper of rustling fabric, the scrape of a zipper being undone.

He clenches his fists; if he touches himself and makes a sound, he’ll give himself away.

“Yuuri.”

“Sometime he wakes me up by licking me.” Viktor hears a sharp intake of breath and shivers. Yuuri has such clever hands; who knows what he’s doing to Yuurik with them. “Not just my cock, but also…”

“T-there too? Ah —”

Yuurik’s voice breaks; whatever Yuuri is inflicting on him must be good. Viktor dares to move a little closer, trusting that they’re both distracted. He sinks into the armchair that faces the couch.

Yuurik is in Yuuri’s lap, up on his knees, sweatpants pulled down below his hips. They’re kissing, tentatively; they pull away shyly every time their lips touch. In between kisses Yuuri is whispering to Yuurik, describing to him all the filthy things Viktor does to him. One of his hands is between Yuurik’s thighs, teasing his cock with the tips of his fingers. The other hand is on his ass, one finger hidden between his cheeks.

Yuurik whimpers as Yuuri rubs the place just under the head of his cock that he likes, the one Viktor likes to wake him up by licking, and throws his head back. He gropes between Yuuri’s legs, at his open fly.

It’s too much. “Hah,” Viktor says, palming himself through his briefs. He can’t be blamed for this; all the blood that normally runs his brain has fled south.

Both Yuuris stop — Yuuri’s fingers wrapped loosely around Yuurik’s cock, Yuurik’s hand half in Yuuri’s jeans — and stare at him. They give him twin, heavy-lidded looks. Viktor rubs himself roughly through the red lace, knows how he must look: flushed, a dark wet spot marking where the tip of his erection is straining against the fabric, lips parted.

Viktor doesn’t know whether he wants to shove himself between them or sit back and watch them please each other. There are too many options, and all of them are delicious.

The silence hangs between them; they’re on the edge of something, Viktor thinks. He doesn’t dare speak.

He knows that he has to let Yuuri come to him.

“Hey,” Yuuri says, and he turns his head and whispers, too softly for Viktor to make out, into Yuurik’s ear.

“Yeah,” Yuurik says. A dark blush is blooming on his neck and shoulders. “Yeah, okay.”

They undress each other. Yuuri takes off Yuurik’s sweatpants and tshirt (Viktor notes that he didn’t bother to give himself underwear) and then has to push him off his lap to wriggle out of his jeans and boxers. He pulls his sweater over his head — green, lush cashmere, stolen from Viktor — and lets it fall to the ground. Naked, they are startlingly alike. Viktor thinks, greedily, that only he could tell them apart like this; only he knows Yuuri this well, only he has worshiped Yuuri enough to know every inch of his skin. Both of them are in skating form; only the mismatched bruises on their legs and the ring on Yuuri’s finger give them away.

Yuuri gently guides Yuurik facedown down onto the couch, his head resting on one of the throw pillows. He runs his hands down Yuurik’s back, digs his nails into Yuurik’s ass. Viktor catches the appreciative look that flits across his face and can’t help but smile.

The bottle of lube Viktor bought on his way home is still lying on the end table. Yuuri flicks open the cap and tips the bottle over Yuurik’s ass, lets the liquid drip down between his cheeks. Even in the dim room Viktor can see the shine. Yuurik’s face is turned towards Viktor, and as Yuuri spreads Yuurik open, their eyes meet.

Viktor wonders if he looks as wrecked as he feels.

Yuuri starts fingering him, because he quivers and scrabbles for purchase on the leather. Viktor fumbled the first time Yuuri allowed it, desperate to please and certain that he wouldn’t be able to, but Yuuri knows himself well and moves with absolute confidence. Viktor wants to move closer, to actually see Yuuri press his fingers into Yuurik. He slides his hand beneath the waistband of his briefs.

“No, don’t,” Yuuri says. He twists his fingers, and Yuurik cries out. “I’ll do it. Later.”

He get embarrassed being explicit — especially when he’s ordering Viktor around, a thing Yuuri still doesn’t seem to quite believe Viktor enjoys — but that only makes it better. Isn’t it just proof how good he is, that he understands what Yuuri wants him to do without being told?

He moves his hands to his thighs obediently, shivering as his cock throbs, and waits.

“Harder,” Yuurik gasps.

Yuuri does something with his fingers that makes him jump. Yuurik tries to muffle himself with the pillow but cries spill out of him like a dam in him has broken. Yuuri keeps his free hand on his hip, steadying him, exactly the way Viktor does when he stretches Yuuri open. He’s biting his lip in concentration, dark eyes fixed on Yuurik’s body.

Yuurik’s hip lift off of the couch, knees bent as he tries to fuck himself on Yuuri’s fingers. Viktor can see his cock, heavy and red, dripping precome all over the leather.

“Please,” he says. He’s so needy. Viktor shivers at the sound of his voice. “Yuuri…”

Yuuri withdraws glistening fingers. Yuurik gets up onto his knees, and Yuuri manhandles Yuurik into his lap so that his chin is level with Yuurik’s shoulder. He lifts Yuuri’s legs so that they’re spread wide; Viktor can just see the shine of the lube dripping out of his ass. Then Yuuri shifts so that his cock is resting beneath Yuurik, the tip resting against his sack.

Yuurik is staring at him again. He looks the way Yuuri looked right before he stepped out onto the ice with Viktor for the first time, equal parts elated and terrified. Yuuri crooks a finger at him and shoves the throw pillow Yuurik bit onto the floor on front of them. Viktor gets up, knees weak, and gratefully sinks down between their spread thighs.

“I’m not very good at taking care of myself,” Yuuri says softly. “I hope this makes for it.”

He grips Yuurik’s thigh and lifts him up, then wedges the tip of his cock into him.

“Viktor,” Yuurik moans. His eyes are dark. “Watch me.”

The head slips all the way in, and Yuurik curses and strokes himself with frantic need. Yuuri snaps his hips up, pushing all the way into Yuurik in one thrust, and holds Yuurik’s thighs up with his hands.

Held open, Yuurik slumps back against him and takes it. Yuuri’s strength is incredible as he fucks him. From where Viktor is sitting he can see the rim of Yuurik’s hole clenching around Yuuri’s shaft; Yuuri’s cock is wet from his own precome and lube. Yuurik’s stomach and legs are tight, his toes curling as Yuuri fills him up. Yuuri buries his face in Yuurik’s shoulder.

Viktor’s mouth waters at the sight of Yuurik’s neglected cock, twitching as he’s bounced up and down. He doesn’t dare look away. He wants it so badly, wants to serve Yuurik as he deserves, if only one of them would give him permission. He leans in daringly, lets his mouth drop slightly open. He just wants a taste —

“Yuurik,” he croaks. “Yuurik, please can I?”

Yuurik’s eyes widen. Yuuri stops fucking him long enough to nuzzle against him, mutter, “Do it, it’s okay.” Yuurik swallows — Viktor watches his throat move — then nods.

Viktor puts his hands on Yuurik’s thighs. His skin is warm, sweat-slick. He kisses the tip of Yuurik’s cock, then flicks his tongue across the head and underneath; he licks his way down until he’s mouthing at his balls. The fine hair tickles his lips. Yuuri is moving again, slowly now, and Yuurik is keening softly. His hand rests on Viktor’s head, gently.

Viktor makes up his mind to get him to pull his hair.

He sucks messily along the side of Yuurik’s erection. Viktor feels his heartbeat throbbing against his tongue, in time with the blood rushing in Viktor’s ears. Finally, he lets himself put the head in his mouth, lets Yuurik slide heavy into his mouth, and starts sucking in earnest. Before long he can taste precome. Viktor has done this often enough to know just how Yuuri likes it, and when he slides his tongue along the underside Yuurik cries his name like a prayer.

“Vitya,” Yuuri says, and both of them are watching him, Viktor knows, and he nearly comes right then, thinking of their eyes on him, of how he must look down on his knees for them. Yuurik grips a fistful of his hair, the pain sharp and clarifying and good. Viktor takes him as deeply as he can, nose brushing wiry hair, and Yuurik comes down his throat with a cry.

Viktor keeps him in his mouth until Yuurik pushes him off.

There’s come running down his chin, and Viktor watches Yuuri pull out of Yuurik, cock slick with his own seed, and wrap his arms around Yuurik’s waist. Yuurik breathes heavily, eyes closed. Viktor is still achingly hard, and the taste of Yuurik lingering in his mouth isn’t helping. He grips his thighs again and waits for them to recover themselves.

He knows Yuuri won’t forget about him.

“Fuck,” Yuurik says. His head is tipped back against Yuuri’s shoulder. “The future is awesome.”

“Tell me about it,” Yuuri says.

Both of them smile tiny smiles; their glasses are crooked. Yuuri helps Yuurik off his lap, and then stands up. They look down at him. Yuuri reaches out and smooths Viktor’s sweaty bangs away from his forehead.

“We could fuck him,” Yuuri offers.

Yuurik blinks. “Would we both even fit?”

“What? No, that’s not what I meant!”

“Where’s your competitive spirit, Yuuri?” Viktor asks. He gives them the neediest look he can muster. The idea of having them both in him at once makes him tremble. He feels empty already. “Don’t give up before you’ve even tried.”

“You have practice tomorrow,” Yuuri says, without any force behind it.

Viktor flutters his lashes. “I don’t mind,” he says. “I’ll think of you all day.”

Yuuri sighs. He and Yuurik exchange a look that promises things to come.

“Bring the lube,” Yuuri says.

He and Yuurik leave the room, whispering together. Viktor takes a moment to try and compose himself — both of them crammed inside him, he would never have imagined he’d get to enjoy such a thing — before he snatches up the bottle and follows.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comment to save a life folks


	3. three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yuuri…”
> 
> “Shh…” one of them says. “I’ve got you.”
> 
> Viktor can’t hold himself back anymore; he comes, spilling all over his stomach. He’s trembling. 
> 
> “Keep going?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the porn continues

As he squirms on the bed, Viktor thinks that he now knows Yuuri’s sadistic streak was always there, because they make him wait. Yuuri and Yuurik conferred while Viktor knelt on top of the covers and fingered himself as messily as possible. By the time they finished their conversation, Viktor’s thighs were soaked with lube and he had two fingers shoved inside his ass.

Both of them have joined him now, one Yuuri on each side, and Viktor is trying to fit a third finger in. Yuuri is petting his hair, Yuurik holding his free hand; every few minutes, one of them will murmur some encouragement, tell him how good he is, and Viktor will shut his eyes and try not to come immediately. They watch him with open, hungry gazes. Yuuri is used to Viktor and can keep his eyes on Viktor’s face, but Yuurik’s eyes wander. His gaze keeps flicking down to where Viktor’s fingers are pushed inside himself, as if trying to imagine his cock in their place.

“Yuuri,” Viktor whines. “How much longer?”

“Soon,” Yuuri says. Viktor turns to Yuurik instead, who laughs.

“Don’t look at me,” he says. He strokes Viktor’s cheek. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You can do anything you want,” Viktor says. He nuzzles against Yuurik’s palm. “I love you.”

Yuurik inhales sharply, like Viktor’s words are a blow, and kisses him. His mouth is unbearably gentle over Viktor’s, like he might break. As soon as he lifts his head, Yuuri takes his place; he kisses Viktor with the assurance that Viktor belongs to him.

“Ready?”

“Yeah.”

It takes longer than expected to find the right position. Viktor lets himself be arranged, both of their hands guiding him into place, putting him just where they want him. He ends in Yuuri’s lap, at the edge of the bed, with Yuurik between their legs. Yuurik pushes Viktor’s legs back, folding him almost in half; Yuuri’s arm winds around his waist to brace him. With his other hand he reaches down to line his cock up with Viktor’s entrance.

Viktor tips his head back so that the back of his neck is on Yuuri’s warm shoulder. Yuuri feels good inside him, hot and solid. Being filled up by Yuuri never loses its charm; when Yuuri holds him tight and fucks him, breath hot against Viktor’s skin, he knows Yuuri needs him — that Yuuri wants him — that Viktor and Viktor alone can satisfy him.

Yuuri thrusts in and out of him slowly; Viktor lifts his hips to match him. After a few moment the initial pain fades to pleasure, and he relaxes. Yuuri drags blunt nails over his stomach.

“Okay,” he says.

“Okay,” Yuurik agrees.

He leans over Viktor, and the tip of his cock brushes against his ass. Viktor feels it start to press into him, and gasps. He’s never taken anything so thick before. Just the head of Yuurik’s cock in him is almost more than he can take — it feels impossibly thick with Yuuri already inside him — sweat drops down his forehead as he fists the sheets, calls Yuuri’s name — Yuurik slides in another inch, than another —

It hurts so good. It’s a sweet pain that sets every nerve in his body afire, makes every inch of skin tingle. Yuurik’s nails are leaving red marks behind Viktor’s knees. Yuurik’s breath is hissed between clenched teeth as he tries to move, and Yuuri curses softly in Viktor’s ear as he thrusts up. Viktor is pinned between them, stuffed impossibly full. He’s entirely helpless. Neither of them bother to touch his cock; Yuurik is pressing directly against his prostate every time he moves.

“Yuuri…”

“Shh…” one of them says. “I’ve got you.”

Viktor can’t hold himself back anymore; he comes, spilling all over his stomach. He’s trembling.

“Keep going?”

He can’t speak.

They fuck him very slowly. Viktor tries to match their rhythm, but he can’t. It’s too much, having them both with him like this. One of them is holding his hand. He can hear Yuuri panting, Yuurik grunting with pleasure. It feels good, to be used by them.

He belongs to Yuuri completely.

Viktor doesn’t know how long it is before they finish; he only knows that he’s sore, that he can’t stop making soft, needy noises, that Yuuri’s hand is splayed over his heart like an anchor holding him down. Their come is hot inside him; it drips down his legs and onto the sheets as they withdraw. Yuurik slumps over him, weight against his shoulders, and Viktor reaches up and embraces him weakly.

“Wow,” Yuurik mumbles against his neck. He sounds like someone just told him the secret to doing a quad axel, or where to buy hot mozzarella sticks on sale. “Viktor, you…” He trails off.

“You, too,” Viktor says.

Underneath him, Yuuri extricates himself. He brushes a kiss over Viktor’s temple before muttering something about towels. Viktor smiles — Yuuri is so thoughtful, even though Viktor would be happy to stay filled with his come all night — and holds Yuurik a little tighter. It would be just like him to panic afterward.

But Yuurik doesn’t look panicked. He’s holding Viktor’s right hand; he’s examining Viktor’s engagement ring.

“You bought it for me,” Viktor says. His eyelids are suddenly heavy, but he can’t fall asleep until Yuuri comes back. He can’t leave Yuurik alone.

“We’re really happy, then?”

“Yes.” Viktor brings the ring up to his mouth. “We are.”

Yuuri comes back with the towels, and they clean themselves up hastily. The towels are tossed onto the floor, and when Viktor tries to get up to move them to the hamper, Yuuri mouths ‘oh my god’ and does it himself before pulling back the covers. Yuurik looks worried as Viktor gets into bed, like he half-expects to be sent elsewhere to sleep.

Yuuri tugs at his arm. “Get in,” he says. “You can cuddle Viktor.”

They curl up on either side of him. Viktor is too sleepy to properly appreciate sharing a bed with two Yuuris; he barely has time to enjoy it — Yuuri’s hair tickling his cheek, Yuurik’s nose against his back, their warm skin against his, the two of them holding hands over his hip — before he starts to slip into dreamland.

“Sorry about screaming at you before,” Yuurik whispers. “I...”

“I know, love,” Viktor says thickly. He recalls dimly that Yuuri once told him he went through a rough patch before they met. Viktor can’t change the past, but at least he can make Yuurik happy right now. “It’s fine.”

He falls asleep before he can hear Yuurik’s answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments are what fuel this flesh prison of mine


	4. four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, Yuuri, that reminds me,” Viktor says as the steam reminds of him of yesterday’s forgotten lecture. “Please turn on the exhaust if you’re showering, the steam will —”
> 
> “—warp the cabinets,” Yuuri finishes.
> 
> Yuurik mouths ‘what?’ at him. Yuuri just shakes his head.

“He just put jam in his tea.”  
  
“I know!”  
  
_“Green_ tea!”  
  
“I _know.”_ Yuuri pauses. “He doesn’t like processed cheese, either.”  
  
Yuurik gapes at Viktor, who feels like this is unfair — fake cheese tastes like plastic and doesn’t match his kitchen’s aesthetic — and then stares into his mug. Viktor made him black tea, the Russian blend Viktor favors, with honey to sweeten it. Steam is rising off of the surface, fogging up Yuurik’s glasses and obscuring the suspicion in his eyes as he picks up the mug and drinks.

“Oh, Yuuri, that reminds me,” Viktor says as the steam reminds of him of yesterday’s forgotten lecture. “Please turn on the exhaust if you’re showering, the steam will —”

“—warp the cabinets,” Yuuri finishes.

Yuurik mouths ‘what?’ at him. Yuuri just shakes his head.  
  
They look sweet and peaceful, seated together at the counter with identical dark circles under their eyes. Viktor savors the moment; eventually Yuuri is going to remember they were supposed to have practice today. As his coach, it’s technically Viktor’s duty to remind him (although an argument could be made that Viktor letting Yuuri be responsible for himself is a learning experience). As his (deliciously sore) fiance, Viktor could use the extra time to recover.

(Viktor wonders what Yuuri would say, if Viktor told him how scrupulously careful he’d been about doing anything that might affect his skating, even at practice, before he met him. Yuuri is one of the few things in life Viktor prizes above the ice.)  
  
Besides, if he takes them to the rink, he’ll have to share Yuurik with other people. His rinkmates would no doubt argue that having two Yuuris should make it easier to share, not harder, and they would be wrong. Even twenty or a hundred Yuuris couldn’t satisfy Viktor. He wants nothing less than every Yuuri, every version of him from every second of his life.  
  
On the other hand, if they go to the rink, they can skate together. Can three people do a pair skate? Would it be weird to refer to a threeway skate as a ménage à trois?  
  
Yuurik wipes at his glasses with his sleeve and seems to notice Viktor’s outfit for the first time. Viktor is wearing his sluttiest practice clothes — lavender crop top, black leggings, highlighter subtly applied to his abs — and when he hears Yuurik inhale he turns around and starts loading the dishwasher.  
  
Yuuri makes a noise. The back of Viktor’s top has a cutout shaped like a heart.  
  
“Do you ever get used to him?” Yuurik asks.  
  
“Not really,” Yuuri says. “Honestly, this is more clothing than Vitya normally wears. The number of times he’s burned himself because he was cooking without pants —”  
  
“Yuuri!” Viktor whirls around. “How can you betray me like this?”  
  
“Why can’t you wear clothes?”  
  
Viktor makes a show of looking down his (extremely fine) body. “Why would I wear clothes?”  
  
“If I looked like that, I wouldn’t wear clothes,” Yuurik says.  
  
“Yes, I would, because I’m not an exhibitionist.”  
  
“You stripped down to your underwear in a public place within hours of our first meeting,” Viktor says.  
  
“What?”  
  
“That doesn’t count.”  
  
“We were at an official ISU event.”  
  
_“What?”_  
  
“Yuuri,” Viktor says. He drags out the vowels. “Did you tell Yuurik anything last night, or did you just sit there quietly until you couldn’t take it anymore and started making out?”  
  
Yuurik and Yuuri trade exasperated looks.  
  
“Well then, I guess I’ll have to tell Yuurik the story of how you seduced me and then cruelly abandoned me after a night of —”  
  
“IS THAT THE TIME,” Yuuri says. His eyes widen as they fix on the stovetop clock and Viktor can almost see death approaching in them. “Yakov is going to kill us, we were supposed to be there hours ago —”  
  
“You don’t have to go to practice, Yuurik,” Viktor says. In his bedroom voice. It’s foolproof.  
  
“Yes, he does!”  
  
“Yes, I do!”  
  
They rush out of the room so fast they practically leave afterimages, and then it’s just Viktor, cup of tea going cold while Yuuri and Yuurik flail into their practice clothes. Something crashes in the bedroom. Viktor hopes it’s not the poster of Yuuri he stole from the train station in Hasetsu.  
  
Well, there goes his plan to lavish Yuurik with affection while Yuuri is out. Operation: Threeway it is, Viktor decides, and he downs his tea in one gulp before dropping the cup into the sink. By the time both Yuuris are dressed, one overstuffed skate bag between them, Viktor is lounging by the door with his keys in hand.

Both Yuuris hold hands with him on the way to the rink. They also drag him along at breakneck speed, only stopping to snag an anomalous person identification band from one of the public access bins. Yuurik puts the red band around his wrist with his teeth, which is much hotter than it should be. By the time they’re coming up the steps to the rink, Viktor is panting, and the cold air is burning his lungs, and also his ass still hurts. He’s not sure he’s going to be able to jump until the afternoon, and that is going to be a fun conversation to have with Yakov, who has intimated more than once than he thinks Yuuri might be sabotaging Viktor with his dick to win.

Yuuri is fully capable of winning fairly, plus he’s in love with Viktor (Viktor puffs up at the thought) and wouldn’t do that to him.

They rush through their warm ups. Yakov sees them across the rink as they trudge in, but when he notices the second Yuuri he just sighs and waves Viktor off in a way that Viktor knows means he can do whatever he wants.

Both Yuuris are giving each other terrified looks, but personally Viktor considers it a success. Yakov didn’t tell him to leave the Yuuris alone, so Viktor is saved the trouble of disobeying him, and he didn’t have a heart attack from the stress, so Viktor knows ‘emergency threesome with past version of fiance’ is now an acceptable excuse. He grins at the Yuuris and holds out his arms.

“Dance with me?”

They follow him out onto the ice. Yuurik hesitates, like he can’t quite believe his skates are going to touch the same ice as Viktor’s, but Yuuri pulls him on. Viktor does a spin just to show off; the air is whipping around him, the cold bringing up goosebumps on his skin. Yuurik’s eyes on him warm him.

“You’re so beautiful,” Yuurik says reverently.

“We match,” Viktor says, and he holds out a hand.

Yuurik takes it, and Yuuri takes the other.

The three of them glide, side by side, in slow, lazy circles. Yuurik is watching Yuuri, adjusting himself to match him, but there’s hardly any difference between them. Yuurik has the same precise edgework, the same innate grace; if only he would lift his head and not act like Viktor might lunge at him and bite him, Viktor would have a hard time telling them apart.

Viktor skates ahead of them, and scrapes to a stop. He lifts his arms into the starting pose of what Yuuri once told him was his favorite of all Viktor’s programs (except the version of Stammi Vicino they performed together): Swan Lake. _I watched it over and over,_ Yuuri said. _I cried. I wanted to reach you._

 _Here I am,_ Viktor thinks. He holds the pose, extends the invitation.

Neither of them move.

“He takes too long in the bathroom in the morning,” Yuuri says suddenly. “He forgets things unless he writes them down. He says things without thinking about them.” He starts to lift his arms, to match Viktor’s pose, and stops midway. “He’s not perfect.”

Yuurik looks at Viktor the way a man in the woods at night might look for the moon: desperately, hopefully.

He mirrors Viktor as easily as breathing. “Neither am I,” he says, and though he can’t look at Viktor when he says it, Viktor knows him well enough to imagine his expression.

There’s no music playing, but that doesn’t matter. Viktor keeps time with the rabbit-fast beating of his heart, positions himself to be always be within inches of their outstretched fingers. They skate together, doing a routine that none of them have practiced in years, but Viktor does not think about the accuracy of his choreography or the precision of his spins.

He thinks only of Yuuri, watching him with dark, loving eyes, and Yuurik, smile tremulous, hope blooming in him somewhere where it laid dormant before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please comment! i've literally stayed up all night writing this for two days
> 
> shoutout to my enablers: [cary](http://archiveofourown.org/users/thishasbeencary/pseuds/thishasbeencary), [meg](http://archiveofourown.org/users/FullmetalChords/pseuds/FullmetalChords), and [spooky](http://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyfoot/pseuds/spookyfoot). cary is the one who sucked me into yvy hell, and all three of them helped edit this into a piece of coherent(?) fiction.


End file.
